


A Lack of Color

by Princess_ArminArlert



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, a lot of angst ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 17:40:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1696841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_ArminArlert/pseuds/Princess_ArminArlert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein is a college drop out living paycheck to paycheck, still reeling from loss of his first love. He also happens to behopelessly infatuated with the cynical blonde piano prodigy who plays each day in the cafe where he works. Every day he listens to him play, stealing glances when he can. </p><p>Armin Arlert is a depressed college sophomore coming to grips with the fact that his talent no longer makes him special. He plays each day in a little cafe to work out his anxiety, under the constant watch of a nervous employee. </p><p>ON HIATUS UNTIL I HAVE REGULAR ACCESS TO A COMPUTER.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lack of Color

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea that has been bouncing around in my head for quite a while now! 
> 
> It started as a simple little AU idea with piano prodigy armin and stoner Jean, and evolved into sad, cynical Armin and depressed Jean. 
> 
> While some of their behavior may seem OOC, these are both older young men who have both experienced very different things than their snk!verse counterparts, so bear with it~
> 
> Enjoy!

Lithe white fingers danced along the keys of the worn piano, a serene tune filling the cool air of the cafe. Small shoulders seemed almost preternaturally still, eyes half shut as his hands moved across the keyboard.

Jean approached slowly, hesitant to interrupt the player. Immediately the notes ceased to spill from the piano as the boy turned, soft blonde hair swaying gently. Listlessly he peeked at Jean over the thick fuchsia frames of his glasses. 

“Uh, your coffee..” Jean felt himself stumbling over his words, feeling the vividly blue, electric eyes of the boy bore a hole through him. He fumbled a quick apology for interrupting as he presented the warm mug. The boy stood quickly, wrapping his fingers around the white ceramic as he stepped forward. He was petite and delicate looking. At first glance, he looked like a teenager. But the sharpness of his gaze and maturity of the air about him told Jean otherwise. His lips pulled into a little smile, nodding curtly at the the sandy haired other.

His shoulders rose and fell in a lazy shrug as he sat at a nearby table.“It's fine. Thank you.” 

Hastily, he made his way back to the kitchen. 

This guy came in often. He always ordered the same thing. _Double shot hazelnut cappuccino, with soy milk._ Then he'd make his way to the piano that sat against the far wall. He'd sit there for a minute or two, toying with his phone or reading. Then he'd pull his hair back into a little pony tail and start playing. Jean had made a habit out of watching him. He was striking in a way few of his regulars were. From his feminine look to the garish thick rimmed glasses, everything about the guy managed to throw Jean for a loop. He'd sit there for hours playing, sipping slowly at his coffee. He almost always left it half full. He took smoke breaks at least every forty-five minutes. Sometimes more often. On those days he could sense the harrying stress emanating off of him. The music he played, beautiful as it was, would be more frantic. Rushed. 

More than once Jean had attempted to strike up conversation, but he always managed to be shot down. Whether it be offering a lighter or complimenting his playing, he'd get the same flippant dismissal. 

_“I'm playing.” “Aren't you supposed to be working?” "Some space please."_

No matter how benign the statement, no matter how saccharine his message, the delivery was always sardonic. 

This guy, despite his delicate appearance, was an enormous prick. 

Tapping his pen on the tidy counter, he gave the boy a sidelong glance. He was sipping at the coffee slowly, methodically, like always. Every couple minutes he'd pull out his phone, idly tapping at it before depositing it in the pocket on the front of his baggy cardigan. Its case matched the bright frames of his glasses.

Then he looked Jean's way. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks and quickly averted his eyes, turning on his heels and making his way back to the kitchen. 

“Fuck.” Jean enunciated the word quietly, pressing his palms against his eyes until he could see stars.

He was hopelessly infatuated with this prick. Completely enamoured with him. His mind wandered as he leaned against the walk in freezer lazily. 

“Fuck.” He wasn't sure when his fascination had taken a nose dive into a crush, but it was grossly off-putting. He didn't get crushes. It didn't happen. He hadn't felt even the slightest tug of physical or emotional attraction to almost two years. He neither wanted nor needed it to get by. With a breathy sigh, he pulled a wet rag from the sink, wringing it out before reemerging from the kitchen. 

The blonde had returned to the piano, and seemed to be preparing himself to play. Jean wiped the counter off with large gestures, eyeing the boy's back carefully. He couldn't help but admire him as he pulled his hair back, looping an elastic hair tie around the top layers as he always did. Jean stared absently as he stretched his arms high above his head and began to play.

Not until he started humming did he realize he had heard the tune before. The melody of the piece was definitely recognizable. He couldn't put a name to it no matter how hard he tried and quickly gave up, resigning himself to humming along quietly, wiping the surface of the counter in small circles. 

“Can you stop humming?”

The notes stopped abruptly, and he almost jumped at the indignant tone in the boy's voice. It was sharp and impatient, and the tension in the nearly empty cafe was palpable. 

“Oh... I'm sorry. I recognized the song..” His words spilled out clumsily, eyes trained on the ground in front of the counter. He could feel his cheeks flare with heat. The blonde clicked his tongue, shooting a condescending look at Jean.

“It's Ode to Joy. _Of course_ you recognized it.” His voice possessed an unexpected edge, slightly mocking in tone. 

“Are you making fun of me?” Jean protested as the boy stood, grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his bag and making his way to the door. He turned on one heel, meeting Jean's gaze as if to issue a challenge.

“Of course not.”

The door swung open, then closed, noisily hitting against the thin frame with unexpected force. Jean's hand was frozen in the same spot, mouth slightly agape. _Fuck._ His eyes were fixed on the narrow back of the boy, as he pulled a cigarette from the box and lit it impatiently. Groaning, he folded his arms against his chest, pulling at the hem of his sleeve. _Fuck._

His attention snapped to the door when the bell overhead chimed cheerfully. A familiar face grinned widely at him as he approached the counter. 

“Hey, Jean!” 

Sasha was another regular, an energetic and cheerful girl full of charm. She almost always ordered the same thing. _A burger, fries, and a strawberry shake._ He usually brought out extra fries, which she always enthusiastically accepted. She leaned against the counter lazily, eyeing the menu before shifting her attention back to Jean.

“The usual!” 

“You're never going to get anything else, are you?” Jean tapped numbers into the register before taking her card, eyes drifting ever so often to the back of the boy outside.

“Why would I? No reason to experiment when I've found something that suits me perfectly. It's just logical...” her sentence was clipped short as she followed his gaze, craning her neck to get a good look outside. “That a friend?” She paused for a moment, her eyes squinting then widening as if struck with a sudden realization. “Wait, is that piano guy?” Her head spun back around and she met Jean's eyes, brow furrowed.

“Y-yeah, it is. He's just on a smoke break, same as always...” His words were slow, his voice cracking with nervousness despite himself. His attention was glued on the blonde outside the window, and he could sense the warmth in his face.

“What's with that face?” Sasha peered at him carefully, leaning forward on the counter. “Wait. Don't tell me.... Piano guy?” She jabbed a finger towards the back of the boy, eyes wide with excitement. “You are into piano guy.” Her open palm smacked against her forehead. “Oh my god.”

Jean shook his head vigorously, turning to go back to the kitchen. His lips were pulled into a tight line, face bright red. “It's not like that. I don't even know the guy. Christ, Sasha.” He spat, the words tumbling out sloppily. 

“It might be good for you, y'know.” Her voice was suddenly quieter, tone somber. “You should talk to him.” Jean couldn't help but turn his head to meet the gaze he could feel picking him apart. Her expression was dripping with concern, like a mother looking at a sick child. 

“Let's just drop it, okay?” Jean replied curtly. His brow was furrowed, and he could feel anxiety building deep in his chest. “It's not like that.”

Without another word he turned into the kitchen, preparing the food hastily. Her words bounced off the insides of his skull, pulling him deeper into the unpleasant mood that had washed over him. The bitterness came in waves, threatening to drown him. _It might be good for you._

“Tch.” 

How patronizing. 

Idly he thought of how fortunate he was that his coworker was gone on lunch. He bit his lower lip, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of the apron covering his stomach. He hated feeling this exposed.

Everyone had treated him differently after his accident. Like they were walking on eggshells. Either making pains to avoid mentioning it or drowning him in questions about every circumstance surrounding it. Either looking at him with sickeningly plastic sympathy, or condescending glances that said everything they were too polite to verbalize. You should have been careful. Why where you out that late. This was your fault. This was your fault. This was your fault. 

The mechanical ring of the timer on the fries ripped him from his train of thought and he spun to face the deep-frier. With a trembling hand he pulled the basket out, shaking it then pouring the fries onto a plate. He placed the burger beside them and brought it to the front, glancing around the cafe to find Sasha. 

“And here we are!” He said, allowing none of the negativity seething in him to show. He smiled, offering a nod as he placed the plate on the table. “I'll have your shake out in a minute.” 

Jean chatted with Sasha for a while after she finished her meal, and though she said nothing more of the boy at the piano, she couldn't help but notice the glances Jean stole as they spoke. Every time he looked, she could feel guilt pulling at her. _He wants to talk to him._ She knew he wouldn't, though. Jean had withdrawn dramatically over the past year. He had always been more of a solitary person, his personality tended to rub people the wrong way. But since his accident he had changed. He used to have a fire in him, a rebellious haughtiness that despite how grating it was to most was a little endearing. 

Then that left him.

Sasha put on a smile as she gathered up her bag, wrapping an arm around Jean's neck and pulling him into a half embrace. “You gonna come to Connie's place next week? It's his birthday.” She grinned devilishly as she released him from the hug. “I'm gonna make cheesecake.” Jean nodded and tapped his pen on the little notepad his other hand held. 

“If I'm free. Have Connie text me, okay?” Despite herself, she felt a wide smile form . He didn't tend to be so receptive to invitations. Maybe he is getting better. 

With a quick wave she pulled out her phone, turning on a heel. A second later, the noisy bell over the door rang out. Pulling himself from the dregs of thought and straightening his apron, Jean returned to the kitchen. 

The rest of his shift went by uneventfully. The boy at the piano left for a while, but returned to continue playing. He looked calmer than before, as if the stress he had harbored from their spat had left him. Jean felt a smile pull at his lips as he watched the boy play. This song was a different one. Melodic and gentle, the notes trickling out softly. It seemed almost like a lullaby. The relaxation was visible in the player's stance, his shoulders showed none of their previous rigidity. 

Letting out an even breath, Jean hung his apron over the counter, nodding at Ymir as he handed over the keys. 

“When you were on break it picked up a bit, but once the dinner rush slows down it should be ok.” 

The girl nodded lazily, looking almost catlike as she stretched her back. Jean poured a cup of black coffee as she walked into the kitchen, pulling her dark hair into a loose bun.

“Alright, alright.” 

Jean offered a quick nod before entering the lobby, taking a seat at the booth two tables away from the piano. The song was swelling in force, coming to a powerful crescendo before growing quiet. His small hands seemed to move over the worn old keyboard almost preternaturally fast, touching down on each key lightly before dancing to the next. It was beautiful. Jean let his eyes close gently as he listened, head resting on his hands. Gradually the notes grew quieter and he heard the bench shift slightly, creaking ever so softly as weight was lifted from it. Then there was a tap at the head of the table. 

Jean lifted his head lazily, eyes falling on the person in front of him. His eyes widened imperceptibly. _Why did he come over here. Fuck. I can't do this right now._ Jean let out a breath he had held for a few seconds too long and nodded at the boy. 

“Sorry for interrupting your playing earlier.” The boy's eyes narrowed, brow pulled into a tight line as though he were dissecting Jean with his gaze. He closed his eyes slowly, adjusting the bright pinkish frames of his glasses before opening his mouth to speak. 

“Whatever.” The word rolled off his tongue with ease, a dainty but ill mannered dismissal of Jean's apology. “But you were staring at me.”

Despite his desperate need to say something, the screaming protests in his head, Jean couldn't find any words.

The other clicked his tongue irritatedly. “My name is Armin Arlert.” 

“Armin...” Jean repeated the name absent-mindedly. It was a weird name, but it's uniqueness was befitting to it's owner. Armin crossed his arms then recrossed them as though nervous, thumbing at the top of his cigarette pack. 

“You're quite good at repetition. I'm proud.” His voice was once again dripping in sarcasm. _This guy._ Without missing a beat, Armin continued. “Do you have a lighter? Mine's out.” Jean nodded, sliding from the booth and standing, feeling somewhat self-conscious under the steady gaze of Armin's clear blue eyes.

Jean's attention drifted to Armin as they walked across the cafe in silence. The dinner rush had begun, and people had started filling the cafe slowly. The ebb and flow of customers kept their pace slow, and gave Jean a chance to look over the shorter blond again. His eyes were trained on his phone, hidden behind bright, thick frames. The flashy case was sleek and fashionable, and mirrored his glasses perfectly. The contrast between the muted pastels of his clothing and the technicolour neon of his accessories echoed the contradictions in his demure appearance and obnoxious attitude almost perfectly, and Jean couldn't help but be amused. 

The porch was free from the bustling commotion that had set upon the cafe, with only a couple patrons eating under the downcast clouds. Armin stuck his hand out expectantly, curling and uncurling his fingers in an almost childlike gesture. Jean ignored him, somewhat spitefully, and lit his own cigarette before passing the lighter to the other. Armin clicked his tongue as he lit his own, drawing in a deep drag and folding his arms over his chest, pack stashed away in his bag. 

“So how often do you listen to me play?”

Jean was momentarily thrown off by the question, but answered in a quick clip. “Whenever you come and I'm working, pretty much. We don't play music here, so it's nice to have something to listen to.”

“And you like it?” for a moment, Jean could almost hear a bit of sheepishness in his tone. He peered down at Armin, trying to decipher his neutral expression. Jean only nodded in response. Armin wove his fingers together behind his head as he exhaled a steady stream of smoke, which danced before his glasses lazily. “Are you working tomorrow?” 

Jean felt his heart nearly jump into his throat and drew in a breath, taking a little drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out in one of the little ashtrays on the railing of the porch. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I'm off.”

“Do you wanna come listen to me?” 

Jean blinked once, then twice. It took his brain a second to work through the question, which had struck him unexpectedly. Does he want to come listen to him play. 

“Yeah.” was all the answer he could muster as Armin took one more puff of his cigarette before it's remnant's joined the pile of stale filters in the ashtray.  
“Alright. I should be here around 7 PM. Come whenever.” His voice was quick, his tone indecipherable. Without a moment of hesitation he departed. His footsteps on the aged wood were soft and as quiet as Jean would have imagined them to be as he left Jean.

Reluctantly, Jean shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling around for his phone blindly. 

“He took my lighter.” 

That night his sleep was restless. 

\---------

Armin tapped at a single key steadily. The noise seemed to die somewhere in the body of the piano each time. A couple keys were like that, he had noticed over his months of playing here. He didn't know why he kept coming. The coffee was only okay, and the piano was average at best. The residual scent of cigarette smoke permeated the aged wallpaper of the cafe, and the paintings that hung on the wall were of shoddy quality. The air was always a little too cold. The homey smell of baked goods and roasted coffee beans floated on the air, though. The place was greater than the sum of it's parts, and managed to put him at ease for some indiscernible reason.

He peeked at his phone as he waited for his coffee, index finger still depressing that white key at regular intervals, the deadened tink of it relaxing. Like a heartbeat, or water dripping steadily from a faucet. It was 7:45. He had gotten there early, despite himself, and could feel a strange nervousness building in his chest. 

Would Jean come? 

More importantly, why did he care?

The guy was strange. From the mop of tan hair that looked almost like the crest of some exotic bird to his shifting demeanor, everything was odd. Something would spark at times as if a switch had gone off in his brain. He would get a sullen look, like he was suddenly overcome by some unreadable emotion. It usually only came in little flickers, but some days he possessed that aura his entire shift. 

Armin wanted to know why. 

The sudden bell ringing over the door ripped him from his thoughts and he stole a glance that way. Sand-coloured hair, with darker sides buzzed. He was wearing ear buds, and seemed distracted. He didn't appear to have that look. Good. 

Armin gazed steadily over his shoulder, adjusting and readjusting his thick rimmed glasses as he waited for Jean to approach. Jean chatted with the freckled girl at the counter for a few minutes before finally coming up, a smile on his face. His cheeks flushed slightly when Armin's lips turned up in a momentary smirk, before returning to their neutral, default position.

“Have you been here long?” Jean asked guilty. Armin shook his head, shrugging. 

“A while. Doesn't matter though.” His voice was dismissive as ever, despite the innocuous words. Jean drew his lips together in a tight line as Armin gestured beside him, towards the empty spot on the bench. Hesitantly, he took him up on the offer. 

Without speaking, Armin looped the hair tie on his wrist around his fingers, pulling the top few layers of his soft blonde hair into a ponytail before stretching out, arms high above his head. 

His hands then settled in front of him, eyes shut as he felt the delicately worn texture under the pads of his fingers. His index finger ran down the key it had found itself at and then pressed lazily, the sound coming out a strangled tink. _A broken key._

His hands moved left and then began to play, slowly at first. It was the same song he had played yesterday before speaking to Jean. _Claire De Lune._ It was one of his favourite pieces to play on days like these. The downcast weather and serenity of the outside world lent themselves to the languid calm of the song. 

Jean's eyes were fixed on Armin's profile as he played, his eyes were nearly closed as his fingers moved along the keyboard, seemingly of their own accord. He had never really looked at him this close, and drank in the details as the melody spilling from the body of the piano filled his ears. 

He had long eyelashes that fluttered gently over blue eyes. This close he could tell how pale they were, nearly as light as his hair. His nose was upturned ever so slightly, small and fine like all of his features. He looked androgynous, almost cherubic. 

Then his blue eyes flicked up, meeting Jean's gaze. They possessed an intensity to them that seemed stark against the relaxed expression he bore. 

“You should endeavor to make your staring a bit less obvious...” His voice was mellow, quiet and almost sweet despite the condescension it carried. His lips pulled into a little smile as he continued to play, gaze settling back on the keyboard. Jean held his tongue, unable to find a proper response and averted his eyes quickly. He could feel the heat in his cheeks again.

This guy.

Jean swallowed, resigning himself to sipping a the coffee he had ordered. It was simple. Black coffee with a little sugar. He didn't tend to like coffee when it was loaded up with cream. His attention flitted back to Armin when the playing stopped.

“So what do you do?”  
Jean turned his head back to address Armin, who's attention was focused solely on Jean. He seemed to be sizing him up, and it made Jean shift slightly. 

“I work here. I don't do much.” His tone was indifferent, and he shrugged lightly as he answered.

“Do you go to one of the colleges in town?” 

“No.” Armin's eyes narrowed slightly as he tented his fingers, resting his narrow chin on them.

“Have you graduate already?” Jean didn't look old enough to have graduated, so it seemed unlikely. 

“No. I stopped going a couple years ago.” Jean sipped at his coffee, fingers pulling at the loose hem of his hoodie distractedly. The route the conversation was taking left him uneasy, and he braced himself for more questions.

“Why?” That single word was what did it. Armin's tone was just slightly demanding, and his gaze piercing as he looked Jean over. 

“I just....” Jean trailed off, searching for the right words. They couldn't come. “It's complicated. It just stopped.”

“So you're a deadbeat?” The words seemed mocking, and the little smile that played on Armin's lips was more than a little unsettling. 

“No, I'm not. It's just a long story okay?” He realized only after speaking how snippy his tone was, the words had poured out unexpectedly sharp. 

“No need to get so emotional about it....” Armin clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I need a cigarette.” Jean wordlessly stood as Armin let his hair out of the ponytail. He had his cigarette lit as soon as they had exited the cafe, and he passed the lighter back to Jean without explanation. 

He kept walking, descending the wooden stairs and starting down the road. 

“I go to school for music.” His thumbs were working at the screen of his phone, tapping away at what appeared to be some sort of rhythm game. 

Jean drew in a hit off the cigarette before speaking. “I could have guessed. I can see how much you love to play” 

“I don't really love it all that much” His tone was characteristically neutral, completely indecipherable. The thick frames of his glasses seemed to intentionally obscured his eyes. “I only do it because it's all I can do.” Armin slipped his phone back into his pocket, paying Jean a quick look. “I know it probably looks like I care about it a lot. But I don't.” 

Jean bit down on his lip, chewing on it while trying to find a response. “I'm the same way.” Armin's attention seemed momentarily active, before shifting back to it's normal indifference. “Sort of... well... I draw a lot. I even sell some pieces... I've always been told that I'm really good at it. And it's really all I ever do. I was going to school for it, back then...” His words trailed off as he walked, kicking absently at a stone. It skittered across the pavement noisily, and once they reached it again, he kicked it once more. “Everyone always assumes I love it but I don't think I really do. I just do it because it's what I've always done. I don't know if I actually even like it anymore.” He paused for a moment, stifling a derisive laugh. “It's probably the only thing I can do that's worth anything anyway...”

Armin grew quiet as they approached an overpass, walking along the side of it. His hand slid slowly along the concrete wall of it, eyes trained on the road below. “Y'know, I don't know many people who are so quick to dismiss their own worth.” His voice possessed an edge of teasing, and without warning he climbed over the railing. Jean felt every muscle in his body contract with fear as Armin gripped onto the wall behind him, a scream ripping out of his throat into the darkness. Jean grabbed at Armin's sleeve as the boy sank down to sit on the ledge below. Thin legs dangled over the edge, kicking at the air as his fine blonde hair whipped around in the crisp breeze. It smelled like winter. 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Jean's voice seemed frantic, his heart racing. Armin tilted his head up to regard Jean, a catlike smile on his face. 

“What do you mean?”

“You could fall. What the hell.” Armin lets out a sigh, his attention shifting back to the expanse in front of him.

“I've done this before, and never once fallen... It makes me feel alive for a minute. No one can hear me yell up here over all the noise. If it's dark enough the cars down there don't even notice me...” He paused for a moment before resuming. “And if I fall, I fall.” Armin's tone was resigned, quiet. An dull murmur amidst the roar of cars below. His knuckles were white as they clung to the old concrete of the ledge.

“Shit...” Jean drew in a deep drag off his cigarette, his gaze drifting from Armin's head to anything else it could find. “Have you always been this cynical?” 

“No.”

Without pause, Armin slid back up, pulling himself back over the concrete barrier. He looked at Jean quizzically, eyebrow cocked. 

“What's with that face?”

Jean shook his head inattentively, shrugging. His attention was still drifting, feeling oddly unsettled by Armin's answer.

“Do you need a ride back to your dorm? It's late.”

Armin peered at him steadily. “Sure. That'd be nice. It's cold.” he replied flatly.

Without many more words, they return to the cafe. It had already shut down when they got back, having closed at the normal time. Jean climbed into his jeep and was quickly joined by Armin, who crossed his legs as he tapped at the screen of his phone. Occasionally Jean glanced at the boy across from him, carefully looking him over. With his blonde hair still untidy from being blown on the bridge, glasses slightly askew, he looked different. Jean mulled over what seemed different as he drove.

 _He looks real._ He decided, shifting his focus back to Armin as they waited at a stop light. He looks like a real person. Imperfect. He picked at his thumb nail for a moment, feeling the desire for contact chewing at his insides. Jean's breath caught in his throat when Armin's eyes darted to meet his. 

_Please turn. Please turn. Please turn._ Jean issued an urgent prayer in his head for the light to turn. The unwavering eye contact was gnawing at his nerves, but despite that he didn't want to look away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the light overhead flickered to show bright green against the night sky.

The ride to Armin's school wasn't long, and as they pulled to a stop before one of the large dorms, he found himself desperately searching for something to say. Armin opened his door and slipped out, then turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“Want to meet me again tomorrow?” 

His tone was flat, lacking any telling inflexion as per the usual. Jean simply nodded in response, running his tongue over dry lips. “Same time?”

Armin's lips turned up in an ever so slight smile, and he nodded gently. The expression he bore was unrecognizable, but in his eyes there was a flicker of something that spread warmth across Jean's cheeks.

Then the door closed. 

He watched as Armin retreated to the building, his hand searching through the pocket of his thin cardigan to fish out a card. He swiped it through the reader then slipped inside. Letting out a held breath, Jean dug his fingers into the soft cushion of his steering wheel cover.

_No._

He couldn't help but play the conversation over in his head, mind reeling in an attempt to discern the tone Armin's voice had possessed. There had been something almost wistful about it. Melancholic. He sighed irritatedly and lifted his head, turning the key in the ignition.

Tomorrow. He thought absently as he put the car into drive, pulling away from the dorm without paying it another glance.


End file.
